


The Ghost of Sam's Past

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-28
Updated: 2009-10-28
Packaged: 2018-09-03 03:49:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8695273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Sam has loved two people in his life.  He has been in love twice and he's lost love twice.  Now he's broken and Dean isn't sure he can fix him.  Until one night, when he gets a little help...Rated NC-17 for later.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

It was getting harder. Sam thought that each day was supposed to get easier, not more difficult. It had been three months, and he still awoke each morning unable to breathe. Each morning this occurrence also woke Dean.

“Sam?” Dean asked automatically, “You okay?” Pointless question, but still he asked. Sam shook his head wearily and flopped back down onto the bed. “Jess?” 

Another pointless question. It was always Jess. It was always a dream about her. It was always Sam saving her, and getting his perfect future. Dean noted the sarcastic and jealous tone that enveloped his thoughts. 

Dean was doing the best he could, and no one would dare say something different. Of course no one else knew, so it was moot, but the point remained that Dean put his bother first. He buried the constant pangs of jealousy and remorse and focused on the job at hand. Hunting and Sam. Sam and Hunting. Dean couldn’t be sure of the order. 

There was another dream. But it didn’t belong to Sam. It was Dean’s alone. It was a dream that he never allowed himself to think about. Even in the depths of night when the world is black and his eyes have yet to adjust, he doesn’t let himself entertain that dream. It’s just the way it is now. His fault? Sam’s fault? Jess’ fault? Life’s fault? 

“When is it going to get easier?” 

Dean’s heart clenched, hearing Sam talk in such a small voice. It was the way Sam still thought Dean had all the answers. But not when it came to this. Dean was drowning in uncharted waters. 

“It’s just gonna take time, bro.” Dean shrugged on his coat, and headed out the door. “Gonna go get breakfast.” 

“Kay,” Sam mumbled turning into the bed away from Dean. 

 

It was Dean who found their next job. A supposed haunting in Bardwell, Kentucky. Not enough evidence to commit, but Dean wants to get the hell out of Cullman, and he’s pretty sure that Sam is ready to go somewhere else. There’s always something weird about Alabama.

“Wanna go to Kentucky?” Dean went about packing their things, stuffing articles of clothing into their duffle bags. It would get sorted out later. It’s not like they’ve never shared before. Sam raised an eyebrow. “Could be a spook.” Sam arched his eyebrow higher. “Okay, so it could…not be a spook. But we’ll never know if we don’t go.” Sam simply shrugged and grabbed his jacket. 

“We’ve gone on less I suppose, besides ask me how much I hate Alabama.”

Dean grinned brightly. 

“And how much do you hate Alabama Samuel Winchester?” 

“Enough that I filled up the tank two hours ago. Let’s get out of this hell-hole.” 

 

And just like that they were off. They were moving. Always moving. Being in motion is much easier than standing still. They only had about six hours of driving, which was an added bonus. They would be there by dinnertime. They both hoped that there was something in Bardwell worth investigating. They both needed to hunt. The need was all consuming, and they ached for it in their bones. 

It was a feeling that traveled with them. It weighed on their shoulders and both of them bared the pressure. They were searching for an outlet to their frustrations, and hunting was the only “normal” outlet they had. Without a good hunt, they’d soon turn on each other. Dean thought it funny that things always turned out that way, although it scared Sam to no end that he could ever use Dean that way. 

“So, what’s the word on this case?” Sam asked, stretching.

“Not sure. Boyfriend killed his girl. Sounds angry. 

“Oh.” 

“Sam,” Dean turned to his brother. “You did not kill Jessica.” 

“I know,” Sam muttered softly, barely trying to sound convincing.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that. You did not kill her. And you’ll never move on if you don’t believe it too.” 

“Why should I try to convince you, when I can’t convince myself?” 

“Sam…”

“Dean, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Sam stared out the window, focusing intently on the trees that whipped past them. 

 

They drove in silence for about an hour, until Dean found a rest stop to pull over onto. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t go to Kentucky.” Dean was starting to doubt whether Sam could handle a job like this. If there was a job. Sam looked at him, shaking his head in frustration. He knew that look on Dean’s face. 

“Don’t you dare doubt my abilities.” 

“I don’t…I just think that maybe…”

“How did he do it?” 

“Who do what?” Dean asked not understanding. 

“How did this dipshit kill his girlfriend?” 

“Oh. He drowned her in the lake.” 

“See? The two cases are unrelated. I didn’t drown anyone,” Sam replied getting out of the car to find a bathroom. _I just got her incinerated_. 

 

They rolled into Bardwell around five. One of those small towns, where the population sign used to read 799, but now the nine has been sharpied into an eight. 

Driving down Main Street, they wondered if there was even a motel. Finally fed up, Dean hopped out at a gas station and asked. 

“Sounds like there’s one a couple miles off the main road. Look for Trichen Ave.” 

A few minutes later, they found the motel and Dean went to pay for the room. After about ten minutes, Dean returned. “Thank you Archie Newman,” He grinned tossing the credit card at Sam. 

“Took you long enough,” Sam complained, while getting their things out of the trunk. 

“Sorry, Mr. Grumpy Pants, but it turns out that everyone in this town actually does know everyone else. The guy at the counter told me that the girl who was murdered, Norah Peters, well her funeral is this evening. Open attendance. Apparently everyone is going to be there. It’ll be easy to blend in. So let’s suit up.” Dean looked at his watch. “Better be quick about it too, probably a sunset service.” They both looked up at the sky guessing that they had about another hour before the sun would actually set. 

“I need a quick shower,” Sam stated, sniffing his suit to make sure it was clean. “You think I’ve got time?” 

“Yeah, probably, if you’re quick about it.” Dean was looking for an appropriate tie, as Sam shucked off his clothes. “Hey have you seen my…” Dean turned around catching Sam’s naked self, heading towards the bathroom. 

“Seen what?” Sam asked from the bathroom. 

“Umm, my tie?” Dean finished trying not to sound too strangled. “The gold striped one?”

“Uh, I think it’s in my duffle. Side pocket maybe?” Sam shouted over the streaming sound of water. 

 

Sure enough, it was there. Not too wrinkled either. Dean focused all his attention on the tie. The tie was absolutely the most important thing in the world. He worked his fingers deftly, tying the knot, making it as perfect as humanly possible. Because the tie was the most important thing.

 

“The tie, the tie, the tie,” Dean repeated to himself standing in front of the mirror, adjusting himself. 

 

“What about it?” Sam asked emerging from the bathroom a couple minutes later, with a towel loosely draped over his hips. 

 

“What?” Dean asked, breaking his mantra. “Oh, nothing. Just can’t get my tie right.” 

“Looks fine to me,” Sam said stepping over to Dean. He worked the tie and adjusted it a bit.

 

Too close. Smells nice. Warm. Too close.

 

“It’s good. Thanks.” But Sam’s fingers didn’t release themselves from the tie. If possible Sam’s grip tightened. “You can let go now,” Dean breathed mangling his words. 

 

“Yeah, I know.” Sam responded softly, not letting go. 

 

Too close. Too close. Too close. So good. 

 

“You should get dressed.” 

 

“Yeah. I should get dressed.” Sam’s eyes were filled with need. Dean didn’t approve of Sam’s needy eyes. Only because he wasn’t sure what Sam needed. Maybe back then. But certainly not now. For all he knew, and he was pretty certain that he did in fact know, Sam didn’t want this. And only when want and need go hand in hand. 

 

“Get dressed Sam,” Dean warned shocking them both out of the hold they had on each other. He surprised both of them with the tone of his voice. Sam quickly backed off and went to the bathroom to get dressed. 

 

~*~*~

There’s something to be said about small towns. Dean found it endearing that the community was so close-knit. It wasn’t always hickish and full of the podunk. Sometimes it was good and pure. It struck a chord in both Sam and Dean’s hearts. They knew about close-knit. Even if it was only with each other. It had been them against the world since the beginning, and they understood this mentality better than most. 

“Big turnout,” Sam mentioned, finding a couple of seats near the back. There were rules, and their father had taught them respect in these situations. 

 

“Welcome friends,” the minister greeted standing in front of the crowd. “Norah and her family are extremely blessed to have such wonderful friends and family in attendance this evening.”

 

“Dean, where’s the casket?” Sam whispered leaning into Dean’s ear. Dean shrugged, not sure. 

 

“We are gathered this evening to celebrate the life of a cherished daughter and friend who was taken from us. Mrs. Peters?” The minister motioned for the mother to come to the front. 

Mrs. Peters wiped the tears from her eyes and spoke.

 

“My daughter Norah didn’t like big speeches. She was humble, and cared more about others than about herself.” The mother swallowed tightly. “She would have been amazed by all the people who are here today. I take comfort in knowing that she knew how loved she was, when she…when she was…” She took a moment to collect herself before speaking again. “This was… This was my daughter’s favorite place. And this was her favorite time of day. I think we could all agree that she would have wanted to be here.” 

 

Members of the crowd nodded their heads in approval and agreement. 

 

“When she was six years old, she asked me why the sky wasn’t always so pretty. And I told her that it wasn’t that the sky wasn’t always so beautiful, it was that it was God’s gift each day to the sky, and precious things like that…can’t last forever…. oh Norah, why?” 

 

Family members rushed to the front, catching the mother as she collapsed, weeping openly. They guided her back to her seat. 

 

The minister asked them to stand. 

 

“We gather tonight, not only to remember a loved one, but to set her free.” 

 

The family walked over to the edge of the cliff. 

 

“We cast Norah’s ashes into the sunset, so she may be free in a beauty that she always delighted in.” 

 

The family opened the small container and let the wind blow the ashes over the cliff. 

 

When the Minister led them in a hymn, Sam and Dean slipped away quietly. 

 

When they reached the car, Sam spun around and stared Dean in the eyes. 

 

“No body Dean. There was no fucking body!” 

 

“Sam, I’m sorry. I didn’t read that she had been cremated.” Dean was frustrated with himself for bringing them into such a horribly depressing situation for no reason at all. 

 

“No body, no ghost! No bones, no ghost! Damn it Dean! How could you…” 

 

“Hey! I said I was sorry. I thought there was something unnatural here. I mean her boyfriend killed her! She was only 16! Doesn’t that strike you as odd? How many teenagers do you know go around ganking each other?” 

 

“Whatever, let’s just go.” 

 

Sam refused to look at him as they drove back to the motel. Dean couldn’t stand the tension any longer. By the time they made it back to the motel, he needed a drink. 

 

“There’s a bar around the corner. Come with?” Dean asked, trying to force Sam to talk to him. Or at least look at him. Couldn’t Sam see how awful he felt? 

 

“Tired. You go.” Sam took the extra key to the room and headed inside, leaving Dean alone. 

 

Maybe it was better for Dean to go by himself anyway. It would do him good to get away from his younger brother. Focus his sights on something little curvier. Something blonde, perhaps. He constructed a woman in his mind that he would try and hook up with as he walked the two blocks to the bar. 

 

He frowned slightly when he entered the bar. Only a handful of women, and none of them pretty. The best looking one was the frizzy red-headed bartender, whose only real asset were the double d’s hanging off her chest. 

 

Ok. New goal. Focus on the drink. Get wasted, and erase this day completely. Dean nodded to himself agreeing with his new plan. 

 

“What can I get you hon?” The bartender asked, leaning in to hear him. 

 

“Double shot of Grey Goose,” Dean answered, making a mental note to thank Archie Newman if their paths ever crossed. 

 

A few shots later, Dean was rocking the groove of the country coming out of the jukebox. This was good. This was better. Drinking really does fix things. Even if just momentarily. 

 

“Marcia! You. Are. Beautiful.” Dean spoke with an over exaggerated tone that fortunately Marcia thought was charming and not offensive.

 

“Aw, thanks sweetie. You too.” 

 

“No I mean, fucking gorgeous.” She rolled her eyes at him as she poured a drink for another customer. 

 

“You okay hon?” She walked over to him and took his shot glass. “You look a little down.”

 

“I am down,” Dean responded drunkenly. “I mean I didn’t mean to hurttem. S’not my fault.” 

 

The bartender smiled knowingly. 

 

“I’ve got a boyfriend too. Don’t worry. He’ll come around.” 

 

“I don’t have a…”

 

“It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.” 

 

“Oh man,” Dean groaned dropping his head onto the bar. “I’m so fucked.” 

 

“Aren’t we all?” Dean looked up at the new voice. A new voice that belonged to a strangely familiar looking blonde. 

 

“Do I…” Dean questioned, staring at the blonde who sat down next to him. His brow furrowed trying to recall this woman in his not so lucid state of mind. “Have we…” And then he remembered. “Oh holy mother of…”

 

“Dean Winchester,” the blonde smiled. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

 

“Jess?” 

 

“Yeah,” the blonde answered, “and we need to talk about Sam.”


End file.
